Rough Draft
by Jessieness
Summary: Chapter 4 up. Post Haunted. Jesse's POV. Suze manages to find a way to bring Jesse back to life. The side effects? He won't remember their relationship together. But any chance is worth taking for love, right?
1. Don't Speak

Well. That was terribly embarrassing.

I mean, believe me, I've done dumb things in my lifetime--climbing the school roof, for instance--but that one was really dumb. It turns out, that when I was uploading this, I clicked the wrong document on my computer.

Stupid. _I know_.

Well, I apologize, to my first reviewers, who were a little bit confused. To 4rm me to you, and iheartchicago; I'm terribly sorry you had to read that stuff. It was one of our old Forensics speeches. Yeah, _A Dopey Fairytale_. Have you heard of it? I doubt that. It's utter bullshit. One of the main reasons I quit in the first place.

And don't worry, dearies, I was not at all offended by your comments. It is a bit confusing, when you click on a fanfic, and end up reading a skit instead.

So, instead, I'd like to present to you... the real reason I updated so late last night... the one thing that I've been working on for these two weeks.

**::drumrolls::**

ROUGH DRAFT. The stuff at the beginning is kind of like a commentary, by **Suze**. There will be more commentaries, throughout the whole story...so as to explain more of the plot.

Other than that, everything is written in **Jesse's POV**. It's also in present tense, because it's easier for me to talk 'guy' that way.

**Disclaimer:** You know what this is supposed to say. Interpret it in your own way. As long as that way doesn't get me sued.

* * *

To Angela and Christina. 

My first ever MEDiATOR BUDDiES. Don't ever doubt how special you guys are. I don't care if Marieke, Yessy, Elly and Michelley get hooked. Or if Jocelyn gets the whole set. I'll love them always, but--

You were my firsts. And that means the world to me.

_

* * *

_

Chapter one.

_"It's a strange feeling, when your heart remembers ...what your mind cannot."_

(flashback)

_It was about three a.m. when I first stepped outside, the moonlight shining brightly through the pine trees around my house, casting a distorted shadow across the lawn. _

_Shivering, I zipped up the front of my windbreaker and closed the door. Gently, so as not to wake any of my family members. If anyone were to find out where I was going at an hour like this, I'd have a lot of explaining to do. _

_Moving just as quietly, I traveled slowly down the narrow path of the driveway and began my long walk in the direction of the mission. It was around 11:00 when I received the call, and by then, the inhabitants of the Carmel Hills had already long since gone to bed, their lights shut off, drifted to sleep alongside the chirps of the crickets, hiding the grass. _

_I was just a few blocks away when I saw him, standing beside the drooping branches of the willow tree on 6thAve, his arms folded across his chest, an obtuse look in his eyes. _

_I didn't say anything, just stopped walking, to acknowledge his presence. No words should have to be wasted. Tonight was the last night I would see him this way again. _

_He took hold of my hands and lowered his gaze to meet mine. He was a foot taller than me, and I was 5' 8" in my ankle boots. "Querida..." he murmured. _

_I nodded. Shivering slightly as he lifted my hand and kissed it, stroking the back of it with one callused thumb. _

_"Are you..." he whispered, "are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this? I'm not saying that--well, it's just that, I--" _

_I pulled my hand away and lifted a finger to his lips. "I'm sure," I said, "I want this, Jesse, more than anything in my life." _

_It seemed to calm him down, what I said, since he then pulled me close and kissed me gently on the lips. It was soft, sweet, and definitely memorable, but all the while I couldn't help thinking, wondering...if this was the last one. _

_I knew I shouldn't have doubted it. After all, where would we be if we didn't have faith in what we believed in? And when Father Dominic told me about the procedure, I was the one who agreed right away. _

_It's just that...I didn't know. I didn't know if everything was truly going to be okay. There were a millions things that could go wrong with just the ritual alone, and then afterwards... _

_Madame Zara had spoken to me about it, many years ago, back in Brooklyn, that summer when I turned thirteen. My 'one true love' as she so elegantly put it, the one that would last me 'until the end of time.' _

_But...how was I to know that Jesse would love me back, again, if he lost everything, even his memory? _

_I didn't. I could only hope. _

_----- _

A heavy silence drifts through front seat our 98' Honda Civic as I peer outside the window, watching the mass of cars on the highway with a curious feeling, almost like fascination. The many automobiles on the highway have stopped for one car, and one car only. The driver of which was apparently drunk, so early in the morning.

From the far end of the highway, I can hear the incessant shouting of the victims of the crash nearby…and I blush, almost, at the sort of language they are using.

My father, neatly dressed and clean-shaven, sitting in the driver's seat with his morning cigarette, says nothing. It's the way it's always been, for as long as I can remember. He hasn't said anything, not one word, to me, since the accident.

That's what they're calling it, I suppose. An accident.

I don't remember any of it. But that is, according to the doctors, what is to be expected. They told me I was driving under the influence of alcohol. My mother prefers that 'I was led astray.'

Astray. Right. Well, I guess I'd have to have been, to be smoking as much pot as they inferred that I was. Alcohol and pot. Way to make your mother proud.

But the strange thing is, I don't think I had ever done that. Drinking and driving, I mean. And especially not the drugs.

It just, doesn't seem like me.

But then again, I don't really know me, do I? At least, not according to the doctors. Not anymore.

It's weird, isn't it? Amnesia, I mean. You don't really think about how hard it is, how hard it would be, until you're it's own victim. Because that was what I am, I suppose. Just another misfortunate to be played with.

_My name is Jesse de Silva, and I am suffering from stage 2 Amnesia._

Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

Of course it does. Just as much as '_My name is Jesse de Silva, and I am a recovering alcoholic_.' Or '_My name is Jesse de Silva, and it's been four days since my last cigarette'_ would.

Because that's what Amnesia does to you. It makes you like some therapy patient, someone who needs 'help.'

Not that it did, anyway. Help, I mean.

Actually, I just quit therapy two months ago. Yeah, it wasn't going anywhere. All it consisted of was me sitting in a smelly old chair for three hours every week, desperately trying to keep myself from launching at the guy in front of me. The one who kept asking, "And how do you feel about that?"

Because really, the only feeling I had in that cramped up little office was anger. And confusion, after awhile.

Therapy didn't help me. It didn't restore my short-term memory, or anything. It didn't fix up the holes that were now left in our family. It couldn't change the way my sisters look at me.

And it never gave me any hope, whatsoever, of returning to normal again.

I guess that's why we moved out here. That, and the fact that the neighbors were gossiping about me every morning. News traveled fast, in Lansing, Illinois. And since we hardly ever got any news at all—besides the time when those Hell's Angels came to town—anything was everything.

That's why my father wanted to leave, I know. And as for me… I need to start over. I couldn't take the way they were treating me. My friends, I mean. My classmates, my peers. As if I was now a bomb that could go off at any moment. Someone who needed to be kept under constant supervision. Someone who you couldn't just _talk_ to.

But if I had thought, that by leaving Lansing, and moving out here to the West, that it would change anything, I would be horribly wrong. Maybe my friends weren't here to isolate me, but there was always my family.

I witness further proof of this as I turn to look at my father. His eyes are hard, staring out beyond the dashboard at the scene before us. He looks at the wreckage with one feeling, and one feeling only. And I know what he wants to say. _That was you, you know. That's how you would have been, if you had got off easy. But no, you learned the hard way. God spared them, but he didn't spare you._

_Why?_

And honestly, I don't know why. I can't even comprehend, what I might've done, in my long-term memory, what sin would bring this upon me. How ostracized I am, from the people around me. The fact that in what might have been my senior year, I am retaking junior classes. The way that they look at me now, whenever I say something strange. How careful my mother is, in my vicinity.

Whatever it was, that I had done so terribly, I am paying for it. Dearly.

----

I look to my father, in hopes of starting up a conversation. Father and son bonding sessions, according to Stephanie—my only real friend, back in Illinois—are the key to a healthy relationship with your dad.

But I can tell, already, just from the expression he is wearing, that there is no need to talk. At least, not to him. Nothing left to say, apparently. I had received the lecture twice before, early that morning. Not from my father, though. He doesn't talk about it. Never, at least, not to my face. Sometimes I hear him discussing it with my mother, late at night…and that's how I know; how ashamed he is of me.

So it was _mi madre_, who gave me the pep talk this morning. As is expected of everyone in our family, I am to be the polite, studious and honorable student at this new school of mine, and overall, the kind of son I apparently have been for the past seventeen years. Seventeen years. I am nineteen, as of this October. Maybe last year didn't count.

Finally, after what must've been an hour, the traffic starts moving. We start up slowly, but the arrows on the speed-O-meter rise up, higher and higher, until finally we are traveling at 45 miles per hour.

In downtown Carmel.

Now I haven't been here too long, but I'm pretty sure that you're not supposed to drive that fast in a small town like this. Especially in what appears to be one of it's top tourist attractions.

Yet here we were, driving as if stop signs actually said, 'pause.' I chuckle. And he wonders where I get it from.

The car slows down a few minutes later, before I had even a chance to gaze upon the scenery. Which is sort of disappointing, in Carmel. It's gorgeous here. So much that it almost makes you want to forget everything. All the pain, all the trauma, the unresolved issues that brought us here, to this hick town. Almost enough to really start you over. To rinse your palette clean.

Almost.

We pull into the parking lot of a large building. Peering through the window, I note it's beautiful architecture as I unfasten my seatbelt. The building is large, and vast, with many levels and a gigantic church bell hanging from a high tower, no doubt for mass on Sunday mornings.

Wordlessly, I unbuckle my seat belt and grab my book bag, preparing to sling it over my shoulder. As I place my hand on the handle of the car door, I hear my father utter the first words he's said to me since I woke up from the accident.

"We're here."

* * *

Well, yeah. If you're a little bit confused, keep reading. The plot will even out after a few chapters. 

Chapter two will be up sometime at the end of this month. I've got to focus now, and study for finals.

_Ciao, mi amici!!_


	2. Artifice

Dude. Finals are over. haha. Who0hO0.

* * *

Chapter Two. 

_Wordlessly, we crossed the street, carefully avoiding any contact, so as not to look suspicious, to cars that came our way. _

_Not that it was a problem. There weren't any automobiles, driving around in the middle of the night. In Brooklyn, maybe. Queens, definitely. But not here. Not in Carmel. _

_We arrived at the Mission in a fairly short amount of time, the moon just coming out from beyond a thick layer of clouds as we knocked on the front door of the rectory, bringing into high relief the features of Father Dominic, who opened it. _

_He gestured for us to enter. We did so, silently, the only noise I heard traced back to the thunderous palpitations of my own hammering heart. We followed him into a small room, at the north end of the hallway. _

_Father D's room. The one he shared with Jesse._

----

The Junipero Serra Mission Academy—grades K through 12, as my mother had informed me that morning—as it turns out; consisted not only of the many students, wandering the hallways, but also of tourists, as well; clad in Bermuda shorts and vigorously snapping photos of the bubbling fountain, which stands alone in the center of the courtyard.

Apparently, or at least, according to Father Dominic—the current principle—the mission basilica is prone to every day visits from packs of tourists, some who have traveled from different places, all around the globe, just to view the vast dome that lay beyond the tiny parking lot.

Then he looks at me as if expecting some sign of recognition, for me to say something that indicates I've been here before. Neat, I say. Real special.

"You'll also find," says Father Dominic, guiding me gently across the breezeway, "that we have many respectable students, here at the Mission. In fact," he says, taking my by the leading me by the shoulders affectionately, the way I've seen fathers and their sons—not that my father ever did that—and pushing me in the direction of the fountain, "there's one right now."

I look around, curiously. He leads me to gently, still holding on to my shoulders, towards a young lady dressed in black, arms folded across her chest, her pale hair draping lazily over her shoulders. She waves, and then pushes up the lens of her glasses.

I blink. The contrast of her clothing against her milky white skin, and somewhat purplish eyes, is quite shocking. Almost as if she were…well, an albino.

"CeeCee Webbs," the girls says; extending a pale, white hand. I take it, shaking it gently. "Jesse de Silva," I mutter. "Pleased to meet you."

She smiles, and looks to Father Dominic, her eyes wide. At first I'm slightly suspicious of what she's thinking, she looks as though she's seen a specter, but she recovers quickly, and says, her tone entirely business-like, "You as well."

Then she goes on to explain her new position, as vice-president of the junior class. "Since Kelly is 'sick' right now," she adds, and rolls her eyes expressively, "it's my job to make sure you are shown around properly, so you can get acquainted with your fellow classmates."

Again, I blink. Never in my life have I heard anyone my age speak so professionally. It seems that where CeeCee is concerned, being vice president is the perfect job for her.

"Oh." I say. Then, so as not to look completely dense, "Well, then. Thank you very much."

This seems to be enough of an introduction to Father Dominic, since he smiles, warmly, and says, patting me on the back, "Well, then, Jesse. Seeing as you two are acquainted, I should be going back to my paperwork now."

I nod, slightly overwhelmed by the sudden culture shock I was experiencing—we never had albinos in Illinois, much less tourists in Bermuda shorts—and turn to look at CeeCee, who smiles, slyly, winking at Father Dominic. I can only assume he winked back, since he says, "I'll trust you to lead him to his first class, CeeCee," and disappears quickly down the breezeway, in the direction whence we came.

I stare at his retreating figure for a moment, until CeeCee clears her throat and says, considerably more casual this time, "Come on. I'll introduce you to Adam."

I can only assume that this 'Adam,' must be very special to her, judging from the beatific smile that lights up about her face as she utters the name on her lips.

Then she leads me across the courtyard, the sun bouncing off the highlights in her bright hair.

All around me, I catch sights of couples, huddled together on the benches. "Shouldn't we be in class?" I ask, somewhat worried. I don't know why, but it seems I'm always a bit hesitant to disobey rules.

She chuckles, and says cheerfully, "It's lunch."

----

Adam, it turns out was a boy around seventeen years old. Who just got his license, as he proudly exclaimed.

"No more learner's permit for me, dude!" He says, while CeeCee punches him playfullyon the shoulder."I can take girls anywhere I want now.Without supervision."

I flinch, somewhat disgusted by the idea of what this young man would do, when alone with someone in his car. Particularly if this someone were of the female persuasion.

But CeeCee just giggles, and turns a rather alarming shade of pink. Just as I assumed,she seems to be rather infatuated, if the way she giggled, is any indication. Though I'm happy to report, that Adam returns the favor, even if the two of them haven't noticed it yet.

"Well, man." Says Adam, and I am shocked to find that he is addressing his sentences to me. "Got any chicks you wanna take out in the old Tavishmobile?"

I stare at him. "What?"

"McTavish. That's my last name." He looks to CeeCee for confirmation. "Get it? Tavish?"

"We got it, you loser." She says, looking at him bewilderedly, though, no doubt, with a bit of awe. "And besides, I don't think _Jesse_ has any dates he wants to harass in your car yet. I mean, he did only just get here."

The sentence is ordinary enough, if it were not for the warning tone she speaks in. As if reminding Adam of something. Though, of what, I have no idea.

"Come on, Cee." He says chidingly, whatever it was, that CeeCee was hinting about, he seems to have missed the point. Especially since he continues, seemingly unaware of the way CeeCee is kicking him. "Dude, spill. Seen any hot chicks yet?"

"Umm…" I manage to croak—for some inexplicable reason my throat seems to have dried up—as CeeCee, turning an angry shade of red, continues kicking Adam in the knee, this time with unbridled strength.

"Jesus, Cee." He mutters, rubbing on his right knee, the one that CeeCee had so elegantly re-sculpted with her blows, and looks up at her, the disgust plainly evident on his face. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

It was when I got up to buy a corndog—apparently that's all the school supplies for lunch—when I heard it. Just as I am walking by the boy's locker room.

Even if I had been in Adam's car—caught up in some tryst with a dockside doxy—I would not have missed it. The weak protests of a girl.

Following the sound, I wander in the direction of the water fountains. A group of kindergarteners, each one holding their own little Cabbage Patch doll or packet of Pokemon cards—personally, I favored my own collection of Hotwheels—look up when they see me, and scatter about in the direction of the courtyard.

The crying is louder, as I step towards the tiny gate they were all crowding around, just moments ago. Silently I push aside the flimsy steel, and follow the tiny path that—at least, according to the sign—led to the church's cemetery. The muffled sobs are getting clearer, so close I can almost sense them. An eerie feeling overtakes me, and I am a bit hesitant about crossing the last clearing of trees, and into the center of the graveyard.

But something tells me that I have to. That I need to. As if they were waiting, whoever it was beyond those trees.

I take a deep breath, pushing aside the gnarled branches in front of me.

And I freeze.

----

Only a few minutes later I am back in the courtyard, sitting in the vacant seat that CeeCee and Adam had saved for me.

I know there must be something wrong with my face, because CeeCee keeps looking at me, with that same curious expression. The one she gave Father Dominic, when I told her my name. This time Adam seems to have noticed it too, since he's suddenly stopped talking about a movie they watched last week--one that I'm afraid I'm not familiar with--_The Stepford Wives_.

"Hey," says CeeCee, nudging me with her elbow as she puts down her sandwich. Next time I have to remember to bring my own lunch, since the administration is obviously at a lack of better hotdog vendors. "Why didn't you get a corndog?"

I turn to look at her, and am a bit surprised to see the look in her eyes. She seems genuinely worried about me. As if I mattered. That may have been why I say, "Not hungry." Instead of just, 'leave me alone.'

She has no reply to this one. I can tell she isn't used to dealing with people like me. The dark, troubled and brooding sort, like Stephanie had once described me. Instead, I feel her gaze shift towards Adam. Out of the corner of my eye I see him shrug.

"It's nothing." I say.

Finally the bell rings, like a bolt out of the clear blue, bringing an end to the awkward silence that had consumed out lunch table. CeeCee grabs her books as Adam fumbles around with his walkman.

Now, I realize, it was time to be serious. The two of them grab their book bags, heaving themselves up, and readying for class.

"Come on," CeeCee says, gesturing for me to follow her. I turn around, quickly glancing over the benches we were sitting on. "Hold up," I say, "I forgot my book bag—"

Reaching for the black strap, I sling it over my shoulder. "Okay, let's—"

Only I'm incapable of speech, a split second later, when someone collides with me. Falling over, I grab hold of a pillar, catching a glimpse of chestnut brown hair.

"Miss!" I shout, "Miss! I'm so sorry!"

Extending my hand, I lean over the dainty figure in front of me, it rolls over, quickly, sprawled across the floor.

Taking my hand, she pulls herself up, brushing a cascade of silk from her eyes. "Ow," she mutters. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry—" But she stops talking, her eyelids aflutter, as she looks up, lifting her dark lashes.

And I am graced with a view of emerald green eyes.

* * *

Okay, let me sum up the basics:: These should be fairly obvious to you, though, perhaps you haven't caught it yet. 

1. Suze resigned her position as Vice President. As you can see, CeeCee has taken over.

2. Jesse saw something when he went into the courtyard. You'll figure out what it is, in the next chapter.

3. Obviously, the girl he met at the end was Suze. Duh.

4. CeeCee knows something, whilst Adam is in the dark. But not for long.

----

Okay, I'm off to McDonalds. It's STAFF DEVELOPEMENT DAY. Hehehe.

CiAO!!!

(Review?)


	3. Beyond Fascination

To further subdue my fascination with math.

* * *

Chapter three. 

_The air was cold as we stepped above the little stairs, so that we were at level with the altar. A few feet away, Father Dominic was arranging the candles, and swinging that little smoky ball. _

Back and forth, back and forth._ He circled the candles three consecutive times…and came to a stop. "Susannah." He called, looking over to where Jesse and I were standing, underneath the light of the red candle, hanging from the ceiling. "We're ready." _

_Jesse_ _turned and started towards the candles, which were pale, serene. Held up in shape of a pentagon. _

_I caught his sleeve. When he turned his head and looked in my direction, his eyes were black, so black that I could see in them a clear reflection of my own. His lips parted. _

_But I couldn't let him speak._

_"Promise me." _

_- 42 -_

Three hours later, I am ready to meet CeeCee where she had instructed I be, beyond the gnarled branches of the large oak tree, which stands solemnly in the center of the mission's parking lot.

After what seems like a good twenty minutes of waiting, I catch glimpse of her hair, bouncing brightly in a trail behind her. She continues running, her arms full of textbooks as she jerks to a stop in front of me.

"You're late," I say. She is breathing heavily.

"No," she gasps, "I'm never-late. We still have-eight seconds, to go."

My eyebrow is raised, but I can't help but chuckle. Something about this girl seems strange, and yet familiar. Almost as if I've spent all my life watching her, from inside my television, or on the big screen.

"Well," she says, rather dignified for someone who looks as tousled as she does, "shall we go?"

_- 42 -_

"Cee." I mutter.

There's no reply.

"Cee."

Moments later, we are in my car, cruising down Seventeen Mile Drive, just as the sun is setting. CeeCee is impassive, just sitting here, silently looking out the window as she watches the sky, seeming slightly mesmerized by the rhythmic pattern of the waves.

Occasionally she looks up, and tells me to turn left.

"Cee." I say. "Look. We've been driving for almost a half hour already, and you still haven't told me anything."

I look at her, as a trace of annoyance flutters through me. "I don't care if this is a one way lane. I'm turning this car around and driving into the ocean if you don't tell me..._now_."

She blinks at me, she hasn't even been listening.

"Oh, hey." She says, "I think we're here."

_- 42 -_

We get out of the car, and she leads me across an intersection to what appears to be a small cafe. The sign on the window is written in light bulbs, like one of those huge movie theaters. It's so bright, that I can't make out the words.

"I told Adam we were going to meet him here," CeeCee says, flipping aside some of her long white hair.

"Oh." I say, holding the door open as she walks in. "Go ahead."

"Thanks." She flashes me a grin.

The Coffee Clutch, according to CeeCee, is apparently the most 'it' place to be in this small town. Obviously I believe her, not only because of it's kitschy decoration—it looks just like the school gym last year, when Stephanie and her sister were in charge of the Winter Ball—but also due to the fact that just as we walk past the throng of people gathered around the entrance, I am rather surprised to find many people that I recognize from the mission. In fact, it seems the whole school has turned up tonight.

The whole school, sitting there and sipping coffee whilst staring at CeeCee and me as though we've grown three heads. Which is really quite scary, considering how many kids there are, just in the eleventh grade. "Don't worry," Cee whispers as she notices my uneasy gaze, "They do this with the new kids. Suze says it's just like the _Manhattan__ Once-over._"

I laugh, and follow her as she pushes through the crowd to a tiny table tucked away near the bathrooms. It appears that Adam has not arrived yet.

A waiter comes by, and CeeCee asks for a mocha frappuccino. I order the same. We sit there, making awkward small-talk until our drinks arrive. And I realize that I regret coming.

Cee looks rather rueful, too. Where's Adam?

She sighs softly as she looks around at the mass of people around us. Talking, laughing, just having fun. And I'm just about to apologize, for being such horrible company when she looks up, her eyes shining. "Do you like it?" she asks, "It was our favorite hang-out. Everyone comes here after school. At least, when Kelly Prescott's not having a party."

Kelly.

My mind jumps back to the image of the girl, the one I bumped into earlier that day. Her picture is crisp in my head, filling my thoughts and my memory. I feel like I've seen her sometime before. But her name couldn't be...

"Hey." I say abruptly. "So is that who the girl was? The one I met today?" I scan the side of her face as she's leaning against the back of her chair. "Is her name, Kelly?"

CeeCee turns away, staring at the soft fabric of the seat. I don't know what she is thinking, but I feel as though I have a very good idea. She was there with me when I met her, looking at me rather peculiarly as we went on to class.

After what a very long time she finally answers me, her voice turned suddenly dim. The loud chatter resonating from the voices around us is quiet.

And eerie feeling comes over me, I feel breathless, though I'm not sure why.

"No," she murmurs, staring down at her napkin. She picks up her straw and starts stirring the foam on her frappuccino. "No, that was my friend. The one who made up the Manhattan Once-over? Her name's—"

A bell dings as the cafe door opens and a hushed silence falls over the room. Everyone is looking, staring in the direction of the door as a young man passes through. His arm is linked to a lavender silk sleeve.

_"Paul!"_ An excited screech comes from one of the girls sitting by the window. She gets up, flipping aside her honey-blonde hair. "You made it! And you brought—"

"—Suze."

My stomach gives a sick lurch as I turn to look at the figure standing beside him, no longer hidden from view, though looking rather reproachful.

Green eyes widen as they search the crowd, pausing momentarily to stare into mine.

And it's her.

_

* * *

_

I know it's short, but to be perfectly honest... I just wanted to get away from all the damned hyperbolas.

'One Moment More', by Mindy Smith. _So_ much better than 'My Immortal.'


	4. Promise Me

Because I actually have time today. Wo-Ow.

* * *

Chapter four. Promise Me. 

_His eyebrows rose in the form of a question. _

_I let go of his arm, and instead hugged myself, tilting lightly to the side. "Promise me…Jesse," I whispered, my gaze focused on the candles, "that you'll never forget me." _

_His hands came immediately to my sides holding me close, a look of desperation in his eyes. "Susannah," he said, "you do realize that one of the side-effects of this ritual is that I won't be able—" _

_"I don't care about that," I whispered, unable to look him anymore in the eye. I felt pitiful and stupid. Why did I have to go and ruin it?" Just, promise me, that…" I gulped, I could feel a light tingling behind my nose. "When we meet…if you, don't love me anymore," I felt his grip around my arms tighten. "that you'll, you'll remember me. In some tiny way. Promise me that you won't forget me entirely." _

_"Susannah," he said, and I could tell that he was reconsidering the plan. He viewed my face with an expressionthat burned my skin. "I—" _

_"Just do it!" I pleaded, "promise me, Jesse, please." _

_He just looked at me. Took my face between his thumb and index fingers and just stared at me, tilting my gaze to meet his own. _

_"Yes, querida," he murmured, "I promise." _

_He brought his face down towards mine and brushed his lips against mine. Even as he pulled away I could feel it. _

_The remnants of our last kiss._

— — —

She sits down across from him, folding her arms across her lap as she stared straight ahead, lost in some kind of a trance.

And I sit here, just the same, watching her every move.

CeeCee isn't talking anymore, and our table seems consumed in a deafly silence as she twirls a napkin ring around her finger, looking dull and bored. Oh, great.

"I'm sorry I've been bad company," I mutter, trying to make up for what I know is my fault. "It's just...some things have been on my mind."

"I know what you're looking at, Jesse." She puts the ring down in a move that is final. "You don't even know her."

A gurgle of protest runs up my throat but I swallow it down defiantly. She's right.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I finally manage to say.

CeeCee gives me a dry expression. "It wasn't always like this," she says, as though I had just asked her a question. "She used to be our friend...Suze, I mean."

I look over to where 'Suze' is sitting. Her expression is listless and dreary. I can't seem to imagine her as anyone's friend.

CeeCee follows my gaze and continues on. "It wasn't until about a year ago that she started going out with Paul," she gestures over to the young man that is sitting across from her. I have never in my life seen a more awkward couple. "He took her places, you know. Places that she needed to go to. Places where she could run and hide. It was a psychological thing. Suze's been different...ever since he left."

She gives me a meaningful look.

Oh. "So, her boyfriend dumped her?"

Cee smiles, and I notice that she seems different. Somewhat forced, like she's holding down a secret inside of her. Something that she thinks I should know.

"Nah, he would never have done anything like that to her. It was a mutual decision. She decided he needed to go. It's…complicated."

Complicated. Like my family?

"I see." Though really I don't. Why would a guy just up and leave her?

I look once more in her direction, and find that she's watching us. An almost animated look flickers across her face, but she looks abruptly away, turning once more to her escort.

He smiles at her, covering her hand with his.

It looks so dark, so tan compared to her ivory. He's swallowing her up. A knot forms in my stomach, and I can feel my chest constricting.

Quickly I force myself to look away. CeeCee's right. I don't even know her. _What is wrong with you, de Silva?_

Mentally I delete her picture from my mind. If I don't look over, everything should be fine. Where the hell's Adam, anyway?

By the end of the hour we've both finished our drinks. CeeCee sits in front of me, trying to keep up a conversation as she asks me about my life in Illinois. I answer her questions with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, but I can tell already that she's bored stiff.

This evening is a disaster.

"Look," I say, just as she begins mentioning the Carmel Annual Art Gallery for the twentieth time. "I think it's safe to say that we've run out of small talk. And it's quite obvious that Adam ain't showing. So how 'bout we just ditch this place and get out of here? I'm pretty sure you're tired of mocha fraps, anyway."

CeeCee looks dubious—as though she's convinced that _any moment now_, Adam might just waltz through that door—but relents. "Okay," she mutters, "let me just go pay."

I hand her a twenty and she straightens her blouse, looking rather dismay.

"We'll invite him again some other time," I say soothingly. "I'm sure he just got caught up."

"Right." She says.

— — —

It's not until we're putting on our coats that I notice how pale she's looking.

As we cross by their table I find myself sneaking tidbits of their conversation, catching phrases like, "Well if you'd just let me drive you," and "I don't need your protection, Paul."

But the cup doesn't shatter until we're walking through the door. (A/n: It's a metaphorical cup. Sorta like 'proverbial fish'.)

All of a sudden I find myself in a mad flurry of yelling. Everyone freezes as she gets up, muttering incoherently and striding furiously across the café. Paul gets up as well, and—in a somewhat befuddled attempt to stop her—grabs the edge of her sleeve.

"Stop it!" She screams, "Just—stop!" Tugging her arm away, she runs past me and CeeCee before exiting through the door.

The echo of the bell is deafening.

Paul pushes through the crowd, meeting my gaze before he scrambles out the door. "Butt out, de Silva." He mutters, and I wonder for a second how he even knows my name. "This is none of your business."

Which may have been true. Had he not extended to me that invitation.

* * *

Lol. Sounds so macho. 

Okay, I officially no longer know where I'm going with this. In fact, I seem to have lost most of my ideas for this fanfic. This is of course, the result of long periods not writing.

But don't worry. I got plenty of fluff planned. Hehe.

_(Review.)_


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